


connections

by justsleepwalkin



Series: Coldwaveweek2016 [6]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 15:03:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6289204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justsleepwalkin/pseuds/justsleepwalkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Leonard Snart sets something aflame his father told him that they were out of time. </p>
<p>Coldwaveweek2016 | Day 6: Soulmates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	connections

**Author's Note:**

> .......Take this as you will o_o

The first time Leonard Snart sets something aflame his father told him that they were out of time. That they needed to get rid of evidence, fast. He remembers his father's face contorting with anger when his little Leo failed at striking matches, taking the box from the boy, striking, and giving both back to his son with a push towards the mess and a bit out _“Hurry!”_

The burning match in Leo's hand fascinated him for only a short moment; he thought it was something controlled, like this. But it had started to burn towards his little fingers and he felt the bite of _hot_. Panic filled him and he rushed forward to drop the match where his father had told him. He could hear his father yelling at another man, one of the people Leo often saw around their house. 

The flame wasn't catching. Suddenly, the panic of the burning was submerged by the panic of how his father would react if he didn't do this. He was in his father's good graces from helping out earlier— _small hands_ —he couldn't risk it. 

This match he lit on his own and he got the job done in time for his father's strangled voice call him back.

* * *

Lenny didn't like the unpredictability of fire, but he knew on cold nights when their father was out working a long case that Lisa appreciated having the warmth of the fireplace. _This_ he could control. This didn't threaten to burn his little fingers, and even if it did, it would be worth it to see Lisa's eyes light up with appreciation, sitting on the floor in front of the black screen, reaching up at her brother.

He doesn't understand why something so simple like this gives him nightmares; he dreams about the fire escaping and taking him and the house with it, just barely sparing Lisa. Even as he gets more and more cautious lighting fires for her, every time a dream chases him down and his skin crawls, like someone else is with him, making these things happen.

* * *

“What's wrong with you, boy?!” his father screams at him when he's fourteen and he's being processed for juvy. Len's eyes are unfocused and his head's down and he doesn't feel like his body's his own, doesn't really remember how he got here. He told them that he didn't set the fire, but they caught him at the scene with the materials, watching, entranced. “How could you be so _stupid_?” his father demands.

Len stopped trying to say it wasn't him hours ago, because no one believed him and his father wasn't about to try and prove his innocence. He'd said it'd be a _real_ lesson for him, and the word struck enough of a cord with Len that he shut his trap and could only hope that his father's anger would stay focused on him, and away from Lisa until he got back out.

He daydreams about setting the fire and it's the first time he remembers doing it, but it still doesn't feel like him. While he's spacing out, he's ganged up on and he snaps back to focus except no—no, he's in trouble, and what happens to Lisa if he dies here?—but someone's there on his side, _for once_.

“You okay?” he's asked. The other pushes him up at his shoulder and the touch feels like fire and burning and he chokes on ashes, but he nods, unable to reply. 

He survives juvy thanks to Mick Rory. 

His skin still feels seared from where Mick touched him, even though there had been clothing in the way.

He never dreams of fire again.

* * *

His skin's still seared and he never dreams of fire until his father's in prison, him and Lisa aren't together, Mick's with him pulling a job, and there's _fire everywhere_. The job's gone wrong, Mick's lost in the flames, and all of Len _aches_. Mick's laughing, Len's yelling. They have to go, this is too much, Mick's going to _die_.

Len tries to go to him. Tries to be the one to save his friend from a near-death, like Mick had done for him so long ago.

But he sinks to the ground. He's weighed down by all his nightmares from when he was young coming back to him, eating through him, except this time, Mick's with him. In every one of those dreams, a younger Mick, slowly aging with Len. Mick's lighting the fires, madness and pleasure glowing in his eyes. Mick's there when Len's fourteen, the day before they met, everything ablaze. 

Len runs. He leaves the flames to consume his partner and runs until cold air is in his lungs and he shivers from sweat and sways from overexertion.

* * *

His dreams tumble back, mellow. A ringing in his head. A whisper, _Lenny, where'd you go?_

He ignores them and makes sure Mick can't find him.

* * *

All that remains is that ringing.

Sometimes, if Len tries to think about it, he can feel the phantom touch of a burn to his skin.

Sometimes, he thinks he's really just fooling himself.

* * *

His hands examine the heat gun and he keeps his thoughts from going to Mick, but it blips, just for a moment, and like a spark he _feels_ Mick. He stifles that flame when he picks up the cold gun and yes, he was drawn to it. This is what he's needed, not just for stopping the speedster, but to cool off all the heat that's been sidled alongside him since he was a child, pushing into him from... from _Mick_. 

Still... as _cold_ as his surroundings get, he tips the scale too much in one direction, and he desires _balance_. 

He makes a choice. Doesn't call Mick with a phone like is normal, doesn't even find Mick in his dreams—that's still a can of worms that makes him recoil. No, he lets Mick come to him, smoke trails between them as Len does something very simple: he lights a fire. 

And then he waits.

“I know it's been awhile since we pulled that job...”

* * *

Mick has a hand on his shoulder, in the same spot he pushed at when Len was fourteen. It doesn't so much burn as it tingles. Len accepts it, lets it be his counterpoint, lets it warm him. Mick's other hand finds his face, burn-scarred skin smoothing behind his head. Len scrapes teeth along Mick's jaw until their lips meet, breath stuttered. 

Forming a connection.

Forming a connection that isn't _fire_.

When he dreams, there's the crackle of a fireplace, the soft-spoken words of siblings, Lisa's laugh. The flames here remind him of the few good things he had while growing up. Bring him peace. Mick holds onto his chaos, feeds it into Len only as nursed fragments, and Len keeps them both level-headed.

Like a match scratched and lit, their balance was struck and met.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah... idk.


End file.
